the girl with the golden eyes-第3章

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idea　which　destroys　the　creative　faculties　of　the　brain　and　the　gift
of　seeing　in　large；　of　generalizing　and　deducing。　No　man　who　has
allowed　himself　to　be　caught　in　the　revolutions　of　the　gear　of　these
huge　machines　can　ever　become　great。　If　he　is　a　doctor；　either　he　has
practised　little　or　he　is　an　exceptiona　Bichat　who　dies　young。　If　a
great　merchant；　something　remainshe　is　almost　Jacques　Coeur。　Did
Robespierre　practise？　Danton　was　an　idler　who　waited。　But　who；
moreover　has　ever　felt　envious　of　the　figures　of　Danton　and
Robespierre；　however　lofty　they　were？　These　men　of　affairs；　/par
excellence/；　attract　money　to　them；　and　hoard　it　in　order　to　ally
themselves　with　aristocratic　families。　If　the　ambition　of　the　working…
man　is　that　of　the　small　tradesman；　here；　too；　are　the　same　passions。
The　type　of　this　class　might　be　either　an　ambitious　bourgeois；　who；
after　a　life　of　privation　and　continual　scheming；　passes　into　the
Council　of　State　as　an　ant　passes　through　a　chink；　or　some　newspaper
editor；　jaded　with　intrigue；　whom　the　king　makes　a　peer　of　France
perhaps　to　revenge　himself　on　the　nobility；　or　some　notary　become
mayor　of　his　parish：　all　people　crushed　with　business；　who；　if　they
attain　their　end；　are　literally　/killed/　in　its　attainment。　In　France
the　usage　is　to　glorify　wigs。　Napoleon；　Louis　XVI。；　the　great　rulers；
alone　have　always　wished　for　young　men　to　fulfil　their　projects。

Above　this　sphere　the　artist　world　exists。　But　here；　too；　the　faces
stamped　with　the　seal　of　originality　are　worn；　nobly　indeed；　but　worn；
fatigued；　nervous。　Harassed　by　a　need　of　production；　outrun　by　their
costly　fantasies；　worn　out　by　devouring　genius；　hungry　for　pleasure；
the　artists　of　Paris　would　all　regain　by　excessive　labor　what　they
have　lost　by　idleness；　and　vainly　seek　to　reconcile　the　world　and
glory；　money　and　art。　To　begin　with；　the　artist　is　ceaselessly　panting
under　his　creditors；　his　necessities　beget　his　debts；　and　his　debts
require　of　him　his　nights。　After　his　labor；　his　pleasure。　The　comedian
plays　till　midnight；　studies　in　the　morning；　rehearses　at　noon；　the
sculptor　is　bent　before　his　statue；　the　journalist　is　a　marching
thought；　like　the　soldier　when　at　war；　the　painter　who　is　the　fashion
is　crushed　with　work；　the　painter　with　no　occupation；　if　he　feels
himself　to　be　a　man　of　genius；　gnaws　his　entrails。　Competition；
rivalry；　calumny　assail　talent。　Some；　in　desperation；　plunge　into　the
abyss　of　vice；　others　die　young　and　unknown　because　they　have
discounted　their　future　too　soon。　Few　of　these　figures；　originally
sublime；　remain　beautiful。　On　the　other　hand；　the　flagrant　beauty　of
their　heads　is　not　understood。　An　artist's　face　is　always　exorbitant；
it　is　always　above　or　below　the　conventional　lines　of　what　fools　call
the　/beau…ideal/。　What　power　is　it　that　destroys　them？　Passion。　Every
passion　in　Paris　resolves　into　two　terms：　gold　and　pleasure。　Now；　do
you　not　breathe　again？　Do　you　not　feel　air　and　space　purified？　Here　is
neither　labor　nor　suffering。　The　soaring　arch　of　gold　has　reached　the
summit。　From　the　lowest　gutters；　where　its　stream　commences；　from　the
little　shops　where　it　is　stopped　by　puny　coffer…dams；　from　the　heart
of　the　counting…houses　and　great　workshops；　where　its　volume　is　that
of　ingotsgold；　in　the　shape　of　dowries　and　inheritances；　guided　by
the　hands　of　young　girls　or　the　bony　fingers　of　age；　courses　towards
the　aristocracy；　where　it　will　become　a　blazing；　expansive　stream。
But；　before　leaving　the　four　territories　upon　which　the　utmost　wealth
of　Paris　is　based；　it　is　fitting；　having　cited　the　moral　causes；　to
deduce　those　which　are　physical；　and　to　call　attention　to　a
pestilence；　latent；　as　it　were；　which　incessantly　acts　upon　the　faces
of　the　porter；　the　artisan；　the　small　shopkeeper；　to　point　out　a
deleterious　influence　the　corruption　of　which　equals　that　of　the
Parisian　administrators　who　allow　it　so　complacently　to　exist！

If　the　air　of　the　houses　in　which　the　greater　proportion　of　the　middle
classes　live　is　noxious；　if　the　atmosphere　of　the　streets　belches　out
cruel　miasmas　into　stuffy　back…kitchens　where　there　is　little　air；
realize　that；　apart　from　this　pestilence；　the　forty　thousand　houses　of
this　great　city　have　their　foundations　in　filth；　which　the　powers　that
be　have　not　yet　seriously　attempted　to　enclose　with　mortar　walls　solid
enough　to　prevent　even　the　most　fetid　mud　from　filtering　through　the
soil；　poisoning　the　wells；　and　maintaining　subterraneously　to　Lutetia
the　tradition　of　her　celebrated　name。　Half　of　Paris　sleeps　amidst　the
putrid　exhalations　of　courts　and　streets　and　sewers。　But　let　us　turn
to　the　vast　saloons；　gilded　and　airy；　the　hotels　in　their　gardens；　the
rich；　indolent；　happy　moneyed　world。　There　the　faces　are　lined　and
scarred　with　vanity。　There　nothing　is　real。　To　seek　for　pleasure　is　it
not　to　find　/ennui/？　People　in　society　have　at　an　early　age　warped
their　nature。　Having　no　occupation　other　than　to　wallow　in　pleasure；
they　have　speedily　misused　their　sense；　as　the　artisan　has　misused
brandy。　Pleasure　is　of　the　nature　of　certain　medical　substances：　in
order　to　obtain　constantly　the　same　effects　the　doses　must　be　doubled；
and　death　or　degradation　is　contained　in　the　last。　All　the　lower
classes　are　on　their　knees　before　the　wealthy；　and　watch　their　tastes
in　order　to　turn　them　into　vices　and　exploit　them。　Thus　you　see　in
these　folk　at　an　early　age　tastes　instead　of　passions；　romantic
fantasies　and　lukewarm　loves。　There　impotence　reigns；　there　ideas　have
ceasedthey　have　evaporated　together　with　energy　amongst　the
affectations　of　the　boudoir　and　the　cajolements　of　women。　There　are
fledglings　of　forty；　old　doctors　of　sixty　years。　The　wealthy　obtain　in
Paris　ready…made　wit　and　scienceformulated　opinions　which　save　them
the　need　of　having　wit；　science；　or　opinion　of　their　own。　The
irrationality　of　this　world　is　equaled　by　its　weakness　and　its
licentiousness。　It　is　greedy　of　time　to　the　point　of　wasting　it。　Seek
in　it　for　affection　as　little　as　for　ideas。　Its　kisses　conceal　a
profound　indifference；　its　urbanity　a　perpetual　contempt。　It　has　no
other　fashion　of　love。　Flashes　of　wit　without　profundity；　a　wealth　of
indiscretion；　scandal；　and　above　all；　commonplace。　Such　is　the　sum　of
its　speech；　but　these　happy　fortunates　pretend　that　they　do　not　meet
to　make　and　repeat　maxims　in　the　manner　of　La　Rochefoucauld　as　though
there　did　not　exist　a　mean；　invented　by　the　eighteenth　century；
between　a　superfluity　and　absolute　blank。　If　a　few　men　of　character
indulge　in　witticism；　at　once　subtle　and　refined；　they　are
misunderstood；　soon；　tired　of　giving　without　receiving；　they　remain　at
home；　and　leave　fools　to　reign　over　their　territory。　This　hollow　life；
this　perpetual　expectation　of　a　pleasure　which　never　comes；　this
permanent　/ennui/　and　emptiness　of　soul；　heart；　and　mind；　the
lassitude　of　the　upper　Parisian　world；　is　reproduced　on　its　features；
and　stamps　its　parchment　faces；　its　premature　wrinkles；　that
physiognomy　of　the　wealthy　upon　which　impotence　has　set　its　grimace；
in　which　gold　is　mirrored；　and　whence　intelligence　has　fled。

Such　a　view　of　moral　Paris　proves　that　physical　Paris　could　not　be
other　than　it　is。　This　coroneted　town　is　like　a　queen；　who；　being
always　with　child；　has　desires　of　irresistible　fury。　Paris　is　the
crown　of　the　world；　a　brain　which　perishes　of　genius　and　leads　human
civilization；　it　is　a　great　man；　a　perpetually　creative　artist；　a
politician　with　second…sight　who　must　of　necessity　have　wrinkles　on
his　forehead；　the　vices　of　a　great　man；　the　fantasies　of　the　artist；
and　the　politician's　disillusions。　Its　physiognomy　suggests　the
evolution　of　good　and　evil；　battle　and　victory；　the　moral　combat　of
'89；　the　clarion　calls　of　which　still　re…echo　in　every　corner　of　the
world；　and　also　the　downfall　of　1814。　Thus　this　city　can　no　more　be
moral；　or　cordial；　or　clean；　than　the　engines　which　impel　those　proud
leviathans　which　you　admire　when　they　cleave　the　waves！　Is　not　Paris　a
sublime　vessel　laden　with　intelligence？　Yes；　her　arms　are　one　of　those
oracles　which　fatality　sometimes　allows。　The　/City　of　Paris/　has　her
great　mast；　all　of　bronze；　carved　with　victories；　and　for　watchman
Napoleon。　The　barque　may　roll　and　pitch；　but　she　cleaves　the　world；
illuminates　it　through　the　hundred　mouths　of　her　tribunes；　ploughs　the
seas　of　science；　rides　with　full　sail；　cries　from　the　height　of　her
tops；　with　the　voice　of　her　scientists　and　artists：　〃Onward；　advance！
Follow　me！〃　She　carries　a　huge　crew；　which　delights　in　adorning　her
with　fresh　streamers。　Boys　and　urchins　laughing　in　the　rigging；
ballast　of　heavy　/bourgeoisie/；　working…men　and　sailor…men　touched
with　tar；　in　her　cabins　the　lucky　passengers；　elegant　midshipmen　smoke
their　cigars　leaning　over　the　bulwarks；　then；　on　the　deck；　her
soldiers；　innovators　or　ambitious；　would　accost　every　fresh　shore；　and
shooting　out　their　bright　lights　upon　it；　ask　for　glory　which　is
pleasure；　or　for　love　which　needs　gold。

Thus　the　exorbitant　movement　of　the　proletariat；　the　corrupting
influence　of　the　interests　which　consume　the　two　middle　classes；　the
cruelties　of　the　artist's　thought；　and　the　excessive　pleasure　which　is
sought　for　incessantly　by　the　great；　explain　the　normal　ugliness　of
the　Parisian　physiognomy。　It　is　only　in　the　Orient　that　the　human　race
presents　a　magnificent　figure；　but　that　is　an　effect　of　the　constant
calm　affected　by　those　profound　philosophers　with　their　long　pipes；
their　short　legs；　their　square　contour；　who　despise　and　hold　activity
in　horror；　whilst　in　Paris　the　little　and　the　great　and　the　mediocre
run　and　leap　and　drive；　whipped　on　by　an　inexorable　goddess；　Necessity
the　necessity　for　money；　glory；　and　amusement。　Thus；　any　face　which
is　fresh　and　graceful　and　reposeful；　any　really　young　face；　is　in
Paris　the　most　extraordinary　of　exceptions；　it　is　met　with　rarely。
Should　you　see　one　there；　be　sure　it　belongs　either　to　a　young　and
ardent　ecclesiastic　or　to　some　good　abbe　of　forty　with　three　chins；　to
a　young　girl　of　pure　life　such　as　is　brought　up　in　certain　middle…
class　families；　to　a　mother　of　twenty；　still　full　of　illusions；　as　she
suckles　her　first…born；　to　a　young　man　newly　embarked　from　the
provinces；　and　intrusted　to　the　care　of　some　devout　dowager　who　keeps
him　without　a　sou；　or；　perhaps；　to　some　shop　assistant　who　goes　to　bed
at　midnight　wearied　out　with　folding　and　unfolding　calico；　and　rises
at　seven　o'clock　to　arrange　the　window；　often　again　to　some　man　of
science　or　poetry；　who　lives　monastically　in　the　embrace　of　a　fine
idea；　who　remains　sober；　patient；　and　chaste；　else　to　some　self…
contented　fool；　feeding　himself　on　folly；　reeking　of　health；　in　a
perpetual　state　of　absorption　with　his　own　smile；　or　to　the　soft　and
happy　race　of　loungers；　the　only　folk　really　happy　in　Paris；　which
unfolds　for　them　hour　by　hour　its　moving　poetry。

Nevertheless；　there　is　in　Paris　a　proportion　of　privileged　beings　to
whom　this　excessive　movement　of　industries；　interests；　affairs；　arts；
and　gold　is　profitable。　These　beings　are　women。　Although　they　also
have　a　thousand　secret　causes　which；　here　more　than　elsewhere；　destroy
their　physiognomy；　there　are　to　be　found　in